Apart Again

I am walking through a field of knee high grass with unbridled Goldenrod, Queen anne’s lace, and tiny purple flowers I cannot identify. The sun is high and he sky is the most perfect shade of blue with traces of fluffy white clouds on the horizon. It smells sweet, and I can hear birds chirping in the distance.

I am refreshed. I feel rested, calm, and peaceful. I realize I am watching myself stand there, as if I am God. I can see through my own eyes, and those of the sky. I am wearing a loose fitting, long dress and no shoes. I am pregnant, and I can feel the child inside of me swimming. It is a girl. My hair is long and softly blows in the wind, curling around my neck and shoulders.

Though I am alone, I do not feel lonely, or anxious. I do not know where I am, though that doesn’t seem to matter here. I am warm, comfortable, and happy. I don’t see any reason to question things that may disturb my nirvana. Ignorance is bliss here.

I wander through the open fields and see rabbits and squirrels frolicking and chittering. I see birds flying from the treetops on the horizon, and I enjoy the feel of the grass under my feet. The child within me swirls and swims a dazzling ballet, and my euphoric surroundings seem to stretch on for miles.

Without warning, I am doubled over, and the pain in my stomach is blinding. I cannot catch my breath, and I crumble to the ground with my hands on my stomach to protect the child that is now in danger from unseen forces.

I open my eyes to see a corn field around me, and a very rabid looking possum snarling at me. I am dirty, hot, and stinking. My stomach is revolting with cramps, and I quickly vomit in the direction of the angry possum, causing him to retreat. No sooner do I finish being sick, than I hear sounds in the corn around me.

In the moments that follow it becomes clear that I have become very ill. My head is spinning, and my eyes threaten to close. I am unable to stand, and am not sure if I am lying on the ground, or sitting up. There is no way I can defend myself from the walking dead in this state, and I desperately try to crawl away. However, sightless and pained, all I can do is wildly flail in place.

Over my labored breathing I think that I hear voices, but I can’t be sure. I try to force my eyes open, but am unable. I want to open them with my hands, but I realize that I cannot feel them. It’s as if I don’t have hands at all anymore. All I can feel is the searing, intense pain in my stomach, and a desperate longing to be asleep.

I can hear them coming for me as I lay there, and I am completely unable to defend myself. The violent retching is unstoppable, and my head pounds more loudly with each moment that passes. I feel as if death is upon me. I would beg for it if I could speak.

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The group of people come upon the sick woman in the corn field. She appears to be unconscious, save for the intermittent vomiting. She is about 30, and looks as if she has been homeless for days.

Leader, “This must be one of them. I don’t think she is alone. There will be others nearby. There is no way she made it this far alone.”

Person 1: “But is she military? Look at her boots and pants, they are military issue fatigues.” The fear in his voice was unmistakable.

Leader, “No, she would have been innoculated if she were military, and there would be many more of them. Let’s collect her and search for the others. She needs the drug as soon as possible, and her friends will soon.”

With that, two of the larger men scooped up the flacid woman, and carried her away. There were 4 left in the group, and they set off in the direction of Tom's camp.

_________________________________________________________________

When I open my eyes, I do not know where I am, but when I try to call out I learn that I cannot speak. I realize I am tied to a cot someplace dark, and give my eyes time to adjust to the darkness. I try to sit up but am prevented from doing so by a headache the rival to which I have never felt.

My stomach is cramping like I’ve never felt before, and I can taste vomit in my mouth. It is clear I have been very sick, but I feel no nausea now. My breathing is ragged and frenzied, as if I had just been running. I want to get up and get out of here, but I can do nothing but lay here and rest.

What about Finnegan? And Tom? Are they where I am? I don’t hear much, and am not sure how I got here, or why I don’t remember it.

I decide to take inventory of my person so that I am better equipped to deal with situation in the event that something changes. I am clothed, and strapped in to a cot of some kind by my chest, knees and feet. My hands are bound. I am under a blanket, and a pillow is under my head and knees. Who takes such care with the comfort of their captives?

What the fuck is going on here?!?!? There are fucking zombies running rampant everywhere, then I get deathly ill, and abducted without my knowledge and am strapped to a cot in some strange place? Truly, I am unsure how to cope with all this… or if I even can.

Just as I begin to panic, I hear a voice outside.

_____________________________________________________________________

A dark haired young woman sits at the end of a long, meagerly lit corridor reading Gray’s Anatomy with a furrowed brow. She appears to be guarding a doorway when she is approached by a bald man with a white beard.

“Hazel, how is our visitor?” asked Sage, the leader from the scouting group seen earlier.

Hazel replied, “She has been asleep since we administered the drug. I’m not sure, but I think she may be comatose. It’s only been 10 hours, though, so it’s too early to tell. Were there more, or was she alone?”

Sage let out a heavy sigh. “She has a husband, and a son. But they did not come easily. Who can blame them, the world has gone apeshit up there. I’m sure I wouldn’t be too keen on strangers telling me they had taken my wife and that I needed to follow them underground to a former military testing facility.

He beat the hell out of Saffron and Rue when they tried to take him. He only came peacefully when he realized Rosemary had taken the child amidst the chaos. He is angry, and desperate to see his wife, and who can blame him. Right now Ginger is trying to administer a sedative so that we can test to see if he and the child have also been exposed to the virus. He is being less than cooperative”

Hazel’s eyes were wide, “Will we give them the drug? We only have so much…” she trailed off.

Sage quickly replied, “There has been a vote, and it has been decided that they must stay here in the community if we use our resources to help them. We have yet to discuss any of this with him yet, but I think he may be more rational after the sedative, and he sees that we have not harmed his wife or child. He has little choice though, because his wife will be staying with us, having already been saved by the drug.”

“I’m sure the community will be pleased to have new members. I wonder what they know how to do, and how they will contribute. We could really use a medic or a carpenter. Even a gardener would be helpful.” Said Hazel.

A man runs down the hall, “Sage! We need your help. Our visitor has taken Ginger hostage and is threatening to harm her if he is not allowed to see his wife and son.”

“Apparently I am needed elsewhere,” Sage smiled at the look of abject horror on Hazel’s face, and followed the man down the hall the way he had come.

Running out of Options

Fuck…Leaving Chicago is out of the question. I might have been able to make it out if I had just jumped out of a moving train, or if I had just fallen off the EL platform. Those two injuries have slowed me down considerably. However it was after I got shot that I decided to stay downtown.

I started running on the top of the platform toward the Chicago Board Options Exchange building. It was several blocks away at that point, but all the trains had stopped moving. I ran past two on the way. They were completely abandoned except for two cars. I tried to keep myself from looking inside, but the creatures within slammed themselves up against the doors so hard I thought they would break down instantly. They didn’t make it out, and neither did any survivors in those cards. There were 10 to 20 zombies in each. I tried not to notice the two little girls in the bloodstained dresses and pigtails. I failed.

It was bedlam on the ground and I was glad to be up on the tracks. Cars we smashing into things, groups of people were being chased down the street by the undead. I saw one creature standing at a stoplight. He was an obviously blind human at one point, you could tell by the thick sunglasses on his face. And that his hand was wrapped in a Seeing Eye dog’s harness. The thing is that the dog was still holding him back out of traffic as if it were trying to save him. The creature just kept on trying to cross the street and the dog kept pulling back to make sure it wouldn’t. The creature never tried to attack the dog at all. It didn’t even look like it noticed it. I’m not sure why I focused on that, but looking back it had to be the most absurd thing I had seen all day.

When I got to the CBOE I knew I was in for it. The line for the train was out into the courtyard. People were scrambling and pushing to try to get up to the trains. I scanned the crowd and saw a ton of injured people. Several looked like they had been bitten. The thought of riding home packed in a train car with basically several time bombs in the seats chilled me. I really had no other choice.

As I got to the EL platform I made my way to the exit. It was crowded with hopeful people. You’d be surprised how my wounded wrapped leg and a bloody tire iron get the crowd to part. When I got off the EL I noticed a commotion, people were running from the train and trampling those in front of them. I heard popping, it had to be gunfire. I quickly jumped up on the planter to get out of the way of the crowd and to see what was happening. The crowd was running from a group of police officers. A few people were laying on the ground shot. The cops had their guns out and they were taking aim at people in the crowd. I ducked when I saw them pointing and shooting, even though a gun wasn’t pointed in my direction.

The cops were clearing out the courtyard pretty well. I knew this was my chance to make it to the train. I started heading into the courtyard, and at first it was nigh impossible. But as more people fled, the more room there was to go upstream. I headed along the wall, trying to stay out of sight. I noticed two more people go down. I couldn’t tell what they were doing, but I assumed they were shooting obvious undead. I kept on the wall, and held the tire iron in my hand. My thought process was that I hadn’t seen any undead creature holding anything and this might not make me a target.

It wasn’t until I started moving across the open space toward the escalator that I realized one of the cops was tracking me. I also for that split second got to look at 4 bodies on the ground in front of me and I knew I had made a grave error in trying to run past. My brain put the pattern of what each of these bodies had in common before I even realized it. They were all injured, with bloodstained clothes. They had not changed. The cops were shooting anyone with a noticeable injury. And that’s when I felt it, the bullet when right through my stomach.

It didn’t knock me down, but it spun me sideways. It also hit on the side, a couple of inches from the edge of my body. I was so spiked with adrenaline I didn’t think, I just ran. Lizard brain took over and by tire iron bashed the window of the CBOE and I dove in. I kept running full bore through the building and out the other side. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was running to my office. Everything from when I got shot until I got to my building is a blur. I don’t remember a bit of it. I snapped out of it because it felt like my side was on fire, that I fractured my shin and my ribs were broken. I tried to apply pressure to the wound to get it to stop bleeding.

I ran into my building downstairs and climbed up the stairwell to my floor. That was the toughest set of stairs I have ever climbed. When I got to the 8th floor it was all I could do to not pass out. I stumbled into my office and no one was in. The lights were either off or out. I went to the kitchen and got the first aid kit off the wall and walked back to my office. When I was inside with the door shut I started to dress the wound as best I could. It looked as if he just clipped me, and the bullet went all the way out. But it hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I had no idea if he pierced anything vital or not. It did not want to stop bleeding though. I dressed my leg too, and then pulled out my phone.

There was no signal. I figure that the cell towers were down, but I texted Sarah anyway. Hopefully it would keep trying until it got through. I didn’t tell her anything the happened. I couldn’t fit a good summary in 188 characters. What was I going to say?

Zombies. Bedlam down here. Jumped out of moving train to escape. Fought off several. Fell off EL platform. No trains out tonight. Been shot. Might die of blood loss. Hope I don’t. Love you. Cecil

I settled on something simple and un-alarming. No point in worrying her unnecessarily. I said.

I can’t make it home tonight. The trains aren’t running. I will have to be up here for a day or two. I will be home as soon as I can. Be careful. Stay inside. Love you greatly. Cecil

As soon as I finished my eyes were so heavy I could barely keep them open. I had enough energy to lock my door and crawl under my desk before I passed out.

The Spin Cycle

Days ago, I heard moaning and quietly crept to the living room window, scaling the wall and gingerly peaking outside from behind the curtain. Then did the same in the kitchen. Swarms of black flies buzzed about in clouds. Dead walkers were slowly hunchbacking around the yard, plodding closer to my house with their outstretched limbs, stinking, rotting flesh. I counted a baker’s dozen.

[I would kill for a dozen Krispy Kremes right now. And I don’t even like them that much.]

I am sitting on a ragged plaid blanket under the basement stairs with my back against the cold cement wall, few provisions litter the floor around me. Tybs is curled up in my lap asleep. Peaches is purring and rubbing his head against my bare foot. As to not encourage them to meow, I don’t speak to them. All I can do is sit there in silence, listening for the moment when I hear Cecil’s keys jingling in the locked door above me. If that will ever happen. I think about where he might be. I wait hours in silence, hearing a distant moan every now and then. It begins to rain and the thunder softly booms. I am scared and vigilant, tired. But at the same time, bored as hell. I swish about in a maddening spin cycle of thoughts:

[“…and its hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain…”]
[“…blame it on the rain… rain that’s fallin, fallin…”]
[“…rainy days and Mondays always get meee dowwwwn…”]
[“…ohhhh, how I wish it would rain now… down on me…”]

[So sick of stale chips. So sick of stale chips. Stupid crinkly bag – makes such a loud noise when I want to eat. Announces my hunger like a crackling fire announcing heat.]

[Have to pee soon. Will go in the sump hole again. Sound of rain should drown it out. Must creep past basement windows without being seen. I did it before, I can do it again.]

[Pee. I want to be peeing out things that I have enjoyed: Lipton ice tea or good hot coffee…not room-temp bottled water. Which is almost gone. I might have to hit the wine soon...nah, can’t.]

[These human functions. Necessary. Designed for daily living, not under-the-basement-stairs living…I wonder if, after we die, if we ever feel the urge to pee or if we always feel empty like that as spirits? Do we just feel comfortably numb all the time?]

[Dear Lord, please keep Cecil and my family safe. I can handle me dying, I don’t think I could handle any of them dying. Watch over Abby and Toby, too. Sweet baby. I think you would understand if I had to kill myself rather than let myself turn into An Untruth. No greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend. Does this include taking one’s own life to...to possibly save another from a horrible death I might impart on them? Give us all strength, I humbly pray, God. Help me be strong. I need that. Amen]

[“…knock, knock, knockin on Heaven’s door….”]
[“To die, to sleep, perchance to dream…”]

[Should’ve brought my good pillow or two down here. This one’s too small and annoying. Red bouncy chenille throw pillow with a hole in it. Stupid thing to grab, but I couldn’t get too close to the window where the good pillows were or they’d see me…]

[“…rainy days and zombies always get meee dowwwwn…”]

My Nemesis

General David Kohler sat at his table by the window. Below him the fort was alive. All his soldiers were doing their part to shore up the defenses around the small outpost to make sure it could withstand an assault. He sat in thought for many long moments, the decision he was about to make was not an easy one. The army of the dead was growing exponentially, the Midwest was getting overrun and something had to be done. “The Push” had failed; the calculated retreat wasn’t something that he agreed with. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he thought. His next thought was interrupted by the sound of keys and the door opening behind him.

“Good Morning General,” the soldier said to him.

“Lieutenant Thompson.” The general said as he saluted. The soldier set the tray down and saluted in return. “How have the advanced units done?”

“Poorly sir. It looks like they all may have been infected.”

“Damn. Did you tell the scientists to start removing all the alpha team from the cryogenic processor?”

“Yes Sir. We had them removed yesterday, they are still coming out of the thaw though and are a little out of it. We are hoping that they are back to full functionality by Tuesday.”

“Excellent. What of the west lines in Cincinnati?”

“Fallen Sir. They had to call a strategic retreat, they should be here by this morning. What are your orders?”

“I’ve been agonizing with it all night. I know that the project is still highly experimental, but I’ve been thinking of advancing with Nemesis system.”

The Lieutenants face recoiled in horror. “But sir! We can’t just let those creatures go unchecked. Its way too dangerous, even the scientists think it is uncontrollable. I mean it is the most advance cybernetic soldiers we have mixed with infected blood. They have been able to keep the infection to a minimum so far, but it is just too risky…”

“Damn it Thompson! Don’t you see that we have no other choice! We need to activate the Nemesis system right now. The Alpha team may not be ready for a few days. We can’t give Zed a few goddamn days! Now get down to the systems ops people and tell them to get on that right now.”

“Sir, yes Sir. But Sir, you haven’t been eating, please eat your breakfast and I’ll run to distribute your orders right away.” The Lieutenant saluted and spun on his heel. He banged on the metal door once and he heard the keys open the lock. He quickly stepped out while General sat in front of the tray of food.

“May God have mercy on my soul…” General Kohler trailed off as he started to force himself to eat.

***********************************************

Private First Class Thompson exited the room. His fellow guard Private Jarvis shook his head and locked the door behind him.

“Why the hell do you gotta fuck with him like that.” Jarvis said.

“What?”

“Every time you bring him a meal you’ve got to goad him into just spouting off that crazy Sci-Fi shit. What the fuck is wrong with you? I mean the guy is crazy as a shithouse rat, for fucks sake.”

“Hey man, if there was ever a bastard that deserved every bit of mental anguish, it’s that cock knocker in there.” Thompson replied as he shoved his thumb over his shoulder toward the locked door. “That asshole is the reason we lost Cincinnati. His fucking mental breakdown cost us about a hundred thousand lives. Fuck him.”

Jarvis just shook his head.

“Did you hear that shit though? You can’t tell me that it wasn’t funny. Nemesis? Alpha team? What the fuck. I mean, we may as well get Chuck fucking Norris here with his M-60 to take out all the Zeds.” At this, both the soldiers start laughing.

A break in the laughter and Thompson adds, “Chuck Norris once ate a whole cake before his friends could tell him there was a stripper in it.”

The laughing carries on. Jarvis then continues “Outer space exists because it's afraid to be on the same planet with Chuck Norris!”

The two privates pass the time like this for a while inside the mental health facility at the base. A facility that is slowly reaching capacity, as the siege wears on.

Somnolent Wishes

I prefer my dreams to reality lately. In my dreams, I am nearly always powerful. In my dreams, I am ready and equipped. I dream of a competent, quick moving me. Like I said, I prefer my dreams to reality.
Colleen doesn’t know what happens when the men and women separate every morning. She has no idea that while the women gather and work, laboring together inside the camp, safe on the interior of the fences, digging latrines and building a tidy little infrastructure, we are taken outside for a different kind of work.
The trucks always come to the side of the camp furthest from where the women are working. No one actually told us not to tell the girls where we go or what we do all day, but no one has to. Even on the first day out, we knew something was wrong. As we civilians climbed into the camouflaged transports, a silence crashed onto us, rendering each of us still and mute. Not a man amongst us even looked up as the trucks bounced along. Heads down and silent, each of us recognized how truly alone we were at that moment.
We would eventually learn to look forward to those quiet rides in the transport trucks, moments of silence, no spouses to look into the eyes of, no hard eyed soldiers gripping guns like talismans.
They called it, “Bioreactive Containment and Disposal.” I never really got over the grand presumption of the military, finding such important sounding names for sorting the corpses, former military in one pile, usually smaller and fresher, the undead in another much larger and infinitely more fetid pile. The strongest, healthiest of us were usually handed a small four pound sledgehammer right out of the truck. I think this was why the grunts knew they didn’t need to tell any of us not to say anything. “How was your day today honey?” I could hear Colleen asking. “Oh, no big deal,” I would reply, “Spent the morning caving in the skulls of mostly dead soldiers and immobilized civilian zombies with a sledgehammer. Then we poured gas on the lot of them and gave them the Auschwitz treatment. Typical day at the office.”
Some days, if the skirmishes the night before were lower key, we would get a break from the gruesome task of ‘Bioreactive Containment and Disposal’ and we would reinforce the fences and other defenses that surrounded the camp. Twelve hours laboring in the sun, building and repairing fences and that felt like a vacation, anything not to feel the terrible weight of that sledgehammer in my hands. I asked one of the soldiers the first day if they called our work on the fence “Non Oxidative Metallic Structure Construction and Maintenance.” Without a smile, I was handed a large pair of bolt cutters. I decided to keep them.
And now I find myself here, in this cornfield, with what I can only assume is an overrun military camp behind me, an abandoned town in the middle of corn country nearby, and my infant son sleeping fitfully on my chest. Before we left camp, I dreamt of protecting Colleen and Finn. In my dream, I was armed and confident. Here, I’m exhausted and exposed, and my only defense for my family is a pair of bolt cutters. I close my eyes, and for the first time since I held it in my hands, I found myself wishing for that tiny sledgehammer. Colleen said she would take first shift. I only hope that the rustle the cornfields make will warn us if any of them show up.

Archive 7o-553-d >> Entry 5

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Record Logging Protocol : Epsilon
Record # 7o-553-d
Chrono : Suffusion III

---

Descriptor : Communique
Classification : Extrication

---

Region >> Chicago,greater

Type >> Audio ; Voice
Delivery >> Messaging System

Primary Principal >> Chris
Primary Assumptions >> Male ; 20-40 ; caucasian ; Native
Secondary Principal >> Jen (alias:"Babe")

Secondary Assumptions >> Female ; 20-40 ;

Involved(primary,shared residence)

Third Principal >> Ron
Third Assumptions >> Male ; 18+ ; Widowed

Source >> 7o-553-d_AR_0+0005

Notes From A Rogue

“For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.”

Ecclesiastes 1:18

The landmark lawsuit that cost PG&E millions as portrayed in the movie Erin Brockovich as well as the Enron scandal taught corporations all over the world the same big lesson: shred it ALL. Except that the rogue employees who smuggled out said evidence and information set an example for rogue employees all over the world: if it incriminates, it means leverage. And leverage means power. So, get the power before it reaches the shredder. For one employee –especially a lowly Junior Research Assistant—to be able to feel powerful against an entire corporation –well, that is a sexy, sexy thing. And thank you, Mr. Timberlake, I believe I will bring sexy back.

I work for Allergan, a global specialty pharmaceutical and medical device company that discovers, develops and commercializes innovative products for the ophthalmology, neurosciences, medical dermatology, medical aesthetics and other specialty markets. Headquartered in Irvine, California, if you care. You may have heard about their big stock split (symbol: AGN) on CNBC several weeks back or their innovations in the ways of biocompatible silicone breast implants. As of late the big thing is Botox®. Botox® is a drug made from a toxin produced by the bacterium Clostridium botulinum. It's the same toxin that causes a life-threatening type of food poisoning called botulism. The injection reduces the activity of the muscles that cause those frown lines between the brows to form over time –yes, these are the days when laughlines are actually frowned upon. How screwed up is that? Rich women everywhere can achieve that haute couture Stepford wives look in minutes.

As a female rogue employee of Allergan whose psychiatrist suggested journaling as therapy to get through the divorce, I once possessed the fatal flaw of having been walked on and cheated on for years, but, with help from therapy and meditation I finally grew a pair. So, I am proud to announce that I recently began cutting out the bullshit in my life – along with the worthless husband, I finally left the hypocrisy of the Catholic church for subjugating my gender and keeping me apart from the loving God they claim will strike me down for saying this —and for once in my damn life—feel powerful. This need for power is heating all aspects of my life like a stove on high to boil water. I feel it is my responsibility to disclose research notes that would counter indicate the effects of the Botox® injection, thus safety and side effects are a chief concern as it was not fully tested before FDA approval. If I leave this confidential information sitting out on the table in full view to other Allergan employees, I will be fired in a second, so until I can smuggle the report file out, this is for my own eyes only. I write this only for my own satisfaction, I guess. But I have to do it. I am obligated. I just need to plan the “attack”. Do I leak it to the media or go straight to the government? You’d think that’s like deciding which color of Jim Jones’s Kool Aid I should drink.

How do I know there are problems with the substance? In a non-technical nutshell, I was the recording researcher assigned to the project. Now, I know what shit has been going on in the news. I know that everywhere humans are dying and science fiction is becoming fact --reanimation and cannibalizing. And for a split-second there, I though God might be smiting the earth, but in the end, I attribute it to good old-fashioned human error. I know that the source of the outbreak is virtually impossible to trace, and as the subjects are hostile, the idea of further testing is bleak. Now, I’m not saying that the Botox® Initial Studies substance is the cause of this undead outbreak – I am just introducing the idea that this is a result of pharmaceutical roulette - that an undertested substance happened to be prematurely released to the public around the exact time when people began to eat...each other. The "convenience" is startling. It can’t be ruled out, but it can't be scientifically proven either. Either way, the public has a right to know.

In lab rats I tested with the Botox® injection, approximately 30 days following the injection, the rats acted increasingly violent toward one another. My supervisor attributed this to a batch of inbred rats which the lab had received from a new Utah supplier. The substance paralyzed the muscles where they should have been paralyzed. The stuff was doing what the developers hoped it would do for sagging faces everywhere. The muscle paralysis gripped and eventually faded when it should (after all, we can't have women NOT come back to buy a second round of injections). But the side effects left in its wake were eye-opening in these rats. I kept notes on the activities of these rats and on day 45 the rodents began gnawing off each other’s tender pink tails and feet to bloody stumps and infections were spreading. I went into the office of my supervisor and began to attest to problems stemming from side effects but he heard none of it, the bastard. He just condescendingly put up one hand, palm out, while still looking at his Los Angeles Times and said, “No. We have orders to keep going with this.” On day 49, he came into the lab and announced with a smile and a clap of his hands that they were going to move forward with the release of Botox® as the Christmas season was approaching and they had to get the press release over to Marketing, stat. I was really uneasy about it. So, in rogue fashion, I made a copy and filed the original report in a different cabinet under lock and key. I just need to make sure Jose the security guard temporarily turns off the lab hall and corridor cameras when I sneak back in to retrieve it. I will achieve this with the complimentary dime bag of pot (we are in California, after all). I think ----wait -----someone’s coming…will write more later.

R.

Giuliani for President

When the medic, Rudolph Giuliani heard the commotion, and when he learned that Stonewall had been infected, he went straight to his commanding officer. “Major Rossdale, Stonewall has been infected, Sir, and we have to save him. We have the means, please allow me to administer the vaccine.”

Rossdale turned slowly, “I am aware of the situation, son. Just as you are aware we don’t have enough antigen to create vaccines for all of us. You know we will only administer the vaccine when there are only enough of us left to exhaust the supply.”

Giuliani spoke, “but sir, it’s Stonewall…”

“Goddamn it to hell, Giuli!” Rossdale interrupted, “don’t you think I know that? Do you think this is my choice? These are my orders, and I do not disobey orders!”

“Sir….” He seemed to lose his nerve, but thought better of it and started again, “Sir, maybe there is no one left but us, and no orders left to follow… I just don’t want to lose any more men, sir.”

Rossdale pursed his lips, and spoke more quietly now, but just as sternly. “Giuli, I am just as broken up by losing Turner and Hooch as you are, but that gate crashing lunatic got the better of us. But you know damn well that there were nine other bio-contamination containment experiment areas in the states, and those are just the ones we know about. I don’t want to lose Stonewall, either, son. So, unless you’re the fucking President, and you’re here to change my orders, I suggest you pray that the vaccine takes hold of him before the infection does.”

Giuliani looked as though he would argue, but Rossdale turned away and held up his hand to dismiss him, and to indicate that no further pleas would be tolerated.

Giuliani walked quickly away, and decided that orders or not, he was going to save his friend. That night, he snuck into the kitchen, where the antigen was kept, and he stole a vaccine module, and inserted it into a hypodermic. He went down the hall toward the gymnasium, and waited.

He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but no doubt would know it when he saw it. He heard screams coming from the gym, and heard Stonewall banging on the doors. It was uncharacteristic for him to break that way—he had known stonewall since basic, and he never once complained—ever. It was too much for Giuliani to stomach, hearing his friend yell out like that, and he decided he could no longer wait for Coop to take that smoke break to get in.

He walked down the hall, and said “Hey Coop. Remember that favor you owe me? I’m calling it in.”

Cooper looked startled, but said “Sure, Jewels, what’s up? What ya doin’ over here, anyway? I hope ‘yer not outta smokes, cuz I am, too. ‘Bout ready to gnaw off my arm for the nicotine under my finger nails,” he chuckled.

“No, coop, I need you to let me in there—I’m going to save Stonewall.” He said as he showed Cooper the needle.

“Jewels… I got my orders, man. Shit, Does Rossdale know you’re here?” and after a brief pause, “you know I want to help him, too, man. But I just can’t let you in there. It ain’t safe fer none of us if I do.”

They eyed each other, and each saw steady conviction in the other’s eyes. Cooper looked away and said, “Man, don’t make me do this… don’t make me report you…” but he was cut off midsentence by a blow to his stomach.

Giuliani had attacked him, and was hoping odds were good that Coop didn’t have the balls to shoot him. They yelled as they fought, Giuliani to silence Coop, and Coop to tip off the night watch that something was going down.

But after a short struggle they were on the ground, and Giuliani had taken Cooper’s gun from it’s holster, and pistol whipped him. Before the blood even spread to the ground, Giuli was at the door of the gymnasium.

As he opened it, he saw stonewall go into convulsions, and pass out. He knew he didn’t have much time, and as he bent to administer the vaccine, Stonewall’s eyes opened. At first he appeared dazed, but after a moment his pupils narrowed, and he extended an arm to Giuli. By the time Giuli realized Stonewall was already changed, and that arm was not the friendly gesture he had hoped, his teeth were already sinking into his arm.

He sat stunned, as the infection coursed through him, and within moments, before he could even scream, he became one of them. Ironically, he was still holding the vaccine in his hand when he changed.

Stonewall's Secrets

Stonewall Brutus was not the type to break orders. Nor was he the type to fall asleep at his post. Since the mass infection (no one had the guts yet to call it an epidemic), no one from his unit had heard from their loved ones, and morale was really low. Last night’s poker game was the first time he had felt normal in weeks, and though he was tired, he wanted to enjoy the few meager moments of amnesia granted him.

He had been stationed in Pekin, Illinois to help with the bio-contamination containment experiment, when the shit started hitting the fan. One of the other experiment hubs must have failed, and not contacted the proper chain of command to be shut down, and all of a sudden there were infected everywhere. Of course, this was more confidential than who killed JFK. He couldn’t help but feel ashamed that fellow soldiers had made a mistake that might have caused this nightmare to come about, and he was going to work his tail off to make up for the shortcomings of those responsible few, once he got through the quarantine, anyway.

But the only emotion strong enough to overcome his sense of duty, responsibility, and shame, was grief. His mother was old. She was in a wheel chair, and though he couldn’t be sure, it could only be assumed that she was infected. Just the thought of her dragging her limp, lifeless legs behind her in search of food, or the low moans she would make to signal to the others that she had found food… it was enough to turn his blood to ice, and his stomach inside out. He hoped his brother had gotten there in time, he hoped that he had known it would have been humane to kill her in her sleep, but as the saying goes, ‘hope in one hand and shit in the other. See which one fills up faster.’

His Christian name was Cesar, Cesar Brutus—his mother had been an English teacher with a sense of humor. But since he was fourteen, even she called him Stonewall. Fact is, he was built like a brick shit house. Standing at six feet seven inches, pushing three hundred pounds, he had always stood out in a crowd. He had big shoulders, a washboard stomach, and a will stronger than all that combined. He had a hard body, solid will, and strong convictions, but he had soft eyes. His mother said it seemed he was built to be a soldier, and though she had her heart set on a college education, she wasn’t naïve enough to think her aspirations were going to keep him from his calling.

As he sat in quarantine, solitary and resentful, this was all he could think about. His mother, his orders, his imprudent poker game… anything but to think about the infection that was coursing through his veins. Luckily, he was a slow-changer, so they were able to help him. Most people changed within minutes, but when they realized he was bitten but not infected, they rushed him to the medical quadrant for the vaccine. They had used the antigen with success in Pekin but there wasn’t enough research yet to know if it worked, or to determine the proper dosage. Despite his size, they had to err on the side of caution—with so many unknown side effects, they didn’t want to kill him with the cure. He had only time now, forty eight hours with his thoughts in an empty gymnasium. Their research had concluded that slow changers take up to forty eight hours to complete the infection. He hoped the vaccine would work, but he wasn’t sure yet if he would be intact when his time was up.

Why had he stayed up to play poker? He knew why, and he knew his humanity was to blame for his weakness, and nothing more. But still, he was so ashamed to know that this was the reason he was infected. After a long night of Poker and moonshine, he had gotten little sleep before his day duties were to begin. Then after a long, exhaustingly hot day of digging latrines, he found that since Cagney and Lacey were still not back from the semi-trailer transport that crashed the gates a few days ago, he was on first watch. Not an ideal circumstance, but he had to do his part for his country, his camp, and himself. He was too proud to ask for reassignment, and this was his tragic flaw.

He had fallen asleep at his post, and though the watch tower had spotted the crawler in time, his timing was groggy and slowed, and he had been bitten. He’d been given the antigen within fifteen minutes, like they were supposed to, and he knew that protocol meant forty eight hours in quarantined lock-down, but he couldn’t help but feel let down and deserted by his friends and poker buddies. He knew it was for his own good, as well as the welfare of the camp. His mind wandered to the campers he was quarantined from—anything to keep his mind of his shame, or his mother.

He thought of the young mother with the cropped hair and her strawberry-blonde, infant son with the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen. He had given her an old pair of fatigues and boots so she could help with the labor in the camp. He saw no reason why an able bodied woman should be resigned to dishes and childcare duties when she was willing to do so much more—and all that held her back was her clothing. He also respected that she wore her baby on a sling around her chest or back instead of leaving him in child care while she worked. It had to make the work harder, but she never complained. He always felt it was important to teach children the value of hard work, and that you couldn’t start early enough. It was for her sake he was in here. He scratched his beard and laid back, thinking it was probably time to try to sleep

He woke covered in his own sweat and blood, though he didn’t know where the blood was coming from. He was hot, sweating, and seemed to have lost control of his bladder. His head pounded, his eyes watered, and it took him a few minutes to remember where he was and why. He made his way to the steel doors; he was in trouble, and he knew they would need to document every moment of his case… his transformation? He hoped they would give him more of the vaccine, but since it was in short supply, that was quite unlikely. He banged and screamed with all his might, and waited. He knew they heard him, but there was no reply. He banged again, this time with the feracity of a cornered animal, with the same result. They were not coming… they were really not coming.

He thought he heard arguing from outside, but the sirens in his ears proved too difficult to translate through. He did not know how much time had gone by since he last banged on the door. He was cold now, his head still throbbed, and his eyes still watered, and he was still covered in blood, urine, and surprise-- feces. It occurred to him that suicide was the only dignified option at this point, but they had left him with no tools of that kind—surely for their own safety, in case he did change.

He felt more terrible than he thought possible, and knew death would come soon. Every aching, pounding, bleeding moment seemed to last for hours as he prayed for death to come. It shouldn’t be long now, it couldn’t be. He pled with himself, willing himself to let go before he was crushed by the impossibility of the pain. He went limp, and there were hundreds of tiny, colorful explosions under his eyelids as he felt his body quaking on the hard linoleum floor beneath him. He heard the sound of the door behind him opening, and more hollering, as he slipped out of consciousness.

Camp, Chaos, and Corn

Tom had been having bad dreams for eight days, now. I think we were all starting to show signs of PTSD now that we were in the relative safety of the camp. Several times each night he seemed to wake with a fury, ready to fight. I never asked him what he dreamt about, it seemed obvious. I, too, was dreaming, but of my father. Each time the circumstances varied, but each time the message was the same—be ready to get out, you’re not safe yet. I was grateful he wasn’t alive to see all this.

The first 48 hours in camp were the roughest. But we soon learned that things were not as they seemed. After two days, almost to the hour, we were all lead back to an open encampment behind the school. There were probably 25 open air tents, and several areas designated for kitchen, firearms, etc, and it was all closed in by a fence. The camp was outdoors, and there were about 100 people already living there. The perimeter of the camp was set a quarter of a mile out from the fence on all sides, and guarded by men with guns, and dogs. At all hours we heard the static of radio communiqué of the guards checking in from their posts. There was even a makeshift watch tower.

All in all, we were relieved to see that life would not consist of an elementary school gym, and were pleased to assist in the cooking and upkeep of the camp. There were cold showers that we were allowed to take in 60 second increments twice per week. They let me have 15 seconds longer so I could wash Finn, as well. One kindly, older officer even gave me an extra pair of fatigues and shoes since my skirt and torn flip flops weren’t going to make it much longer. They gave me fabric scraps to make cloth diapers for Finn, and as long as I washed them daily, I had enough. The food wasn’t great, but the safety and comeraderie was. We made friends and settled in, not sure if were there to ‘wait out’ the threat, or to create a new, enclosed civilization.

The guards and officers kept their distance from us for the most part. Their sleep tents were at the opposite end of camp from us, and it was clear they were trying to maintain some secrecy. We didn’t ask, and they didn’t tell—a policy we were all familiar with. We learned to clean firearms, and took turns digging latrines, doing dishes, cooking, and helping out wherever needed. It was beginning to feel like home.

On our second day in the open air camp, another paddy wagon arrived. We saw another group unloaded, checked and quarantined for 48 hours. Then again on our fifth day, but this time something went wrong. The people had been transported in the back of a semi-trailer, which appeared to have hit the building, and when they opened the doors, zombies spilled from the cargo hold. It took under 30 minutes to contain the threat, and we were all grateful, if not morosely astonished at their efficiency. That night, the truck was loaded with the bodies of the slain undead, and driven away, not to be seen again. Tom seemed to be really affected by this, and his dreams were especially turbulent that night. No one could say it wasn’t nerve-racking, but then, no one said much about the incident at all. The air was heavy with grief, and the sudden reminder of what we had all survived before we got to this place.

On our eighth night, I awoke at my father’s insistence, he said it was time to go soon, and to be watchful. I woke Tom when I heard the commotion, and we listened to the lookout tower soldier hollering to one of the guards on his radio to retreat post haste, and we heard dogs and shots erupting like wildfire from our left. An automatic weapon was unloading, and it was soon joined by another and another—a chorus or machine fire filled our ears and chests as we waited, and the camp seemed to erupt into chaos. Campers were crying and huddled, fearing the worst. Tom and I sat quietly on our cots, hoping for a sign of what was to come. I wondered if it was really time for us to leave.

After about fifteen minutes of this, we were told in no uncertain terms by a very persuasive soldier that we were to remain in our tents, be quiet, and await further instruction. He told us there was a potential security breach, but that protocol was being followed and we would remain safe. We heard shouts that a soldier was compromised (bitten…?), and that he needed to be quarantined. We were surprised that he hadn’t already changed…and the rumors began circulating.

By dawn, we had ascertained that the soldier had been asleep at his post when the lookout saw the threat, and tried to rouse him over the radio. We weren’t sure if he was bitten or not, but we did know he was being held in the quarantine gym, so must have been exposed somehow. Despite the rumors, campers settled back in to their daily routines despite their bleary eyes and weary hearts.

The next night I woke again, my father urging me forward, telling me it was no longer safe. I know it’s crazy, but I could feel in my bones that he was right. Something was wrong here, and it was too damned quiet. I woke Tom, told him my feeling, and insisted that we needed to leave. He asked the practical questions, “How could we leave? Where would we go? What would we use to protect ourselves? and Are you out of your fucking mind?”. I had no answers, but I knew it was time.

The soldiers moved quickly, quietly, and with purpose, as the other campers lay sleeping. Once more we heard gunfire, but this time it was coming from the school. My heart sunk as I realized that the quarantine was broken, and there were zombies inside the camp. The solider must have been bitten last night, and now he would infect us all. We were under attack from an undisclosed, and soon to be exponentially endless number of zombies, and one hurried glance told me that Tom was ready to leave now, as well.

We grabbed our blankets, and I quickly tied the baby to my back with them, using a pillow to pad his back in case I fell, or ran into something. I was surprised to see a pair of bolt-cutters from the manual labor tent emerge from under tom’s pillow. He didn’t meet my eyes, I knew he was embarrassed to have shown me his fear, but now his precaution told us how we would get out.

The campers were starting to stir now, but we waited until the coast was clear, and cut through the fence. We couldn’t afford to travel in high numbers, and we didn’t want to be apprehended and forced back in by the soldiers. One glance behind me revealed that a few had seen us but stayed on their cots, as if their stillness would protect them from the legions of undead that would soon be upon them.

We crawled on our bellies and made our way slowly through the tall grass until we were past the unguarded perimeter. All the soldiers must be in the camp now, trying to save it. We could hear screams and destruction from behind us, but we dared not look back to see our new friends ripped asunder. We had seen enough carnage to last a lifetime.

And then we ran. We ran all night, stopping only for a minute or so every half hour to rest. I never knew I had it in me. I managed to nurse while jogging a few times to comfort Finn, and I was grateful for the pillow and blankets so I could keep my hands free to swat away branches and debris.

We were in the country somewhere, and as day broke, we approached a small deserted town. Where were the zombies? Or the people? How could there be none here at all? I saw my question reflected in Tom’s incredulous expression, and we moved slowly and stealthily through the thoroughfare, hoping to find a clue or some food.

We were both too frightened and weary to search the homes just now, but we did manage to gather up a splintered baseball bat, a box of paper towels, and a few large rocks. We took our bounty with us into the surrounding corn fields, and began to erect a shelter.

I always hated those survival shows, but had never been happier to have seen them! We used the bolt cutters and corn stalks to erect a shelter, and laid down one blanket to keep the bugs off the baby, and the other overhead for some shade. I found a nearly dry creek bed, and used the pillowcase to filter some water from the mud. We were surrounded by feed corn, which was hard but still edible, and we did out best to eat some of that. We used the paper towels to keep Finn’s bottom clean and dry, since it seemed diapers were a thing of the past. By mid afternoon we had made camp, and I volunteered to take first watch while Tom slept with Finn on his chest.

As I stood watch my mind began to drift:

What the hell was next?

Where were we, and how would we stay safe?

Where would we go from here?

What the hell happened to that town, and why was no one in it?

I wonder if we can find a car there…

God, I’m hungry…

And then I was sleeping.